


An Unwanted Contract

by serenbach



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Frerin is the oldest brother, Alternate Universe - Thrain and Frerin survived Azanulbizar, Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3589260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dwarven colony in Ered Luin is struggling. Without a new, reliable source of supplies it is unlikely that the whole settlement will survive the upcoming winter.</p><p>An offer to trade with the hobbits is met with a surprising condition - hobbits only trade with family, so if the dwarves want the supplies, they have to send someone to court the Thain's nephew, Bilbo Baggins.</p><p>Thorin is chosen to be one to make the offer of marriage, but he is not entirely happy about it. He doesn't want a hobbit husband, or to live in the Shire, away from his family and the safety of the mountain.</p><p>However, perhaps spending some time with the hobbit in question will change his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unwanted Contract

**Author's Note:**

> This is set about ten years pre-quest (so Bilbo is forty).
> 
> In this AU, Thrain and Frerin survived Azanulbizar and Frerin is (just about) the oldest brother but otherwise everything else is the same. For notes on why, please see below!

The carven hallways of Ered Luin were familiar ones after so many years, but Thorin still did not see them as home. Home was a mountain far away to the east, now the dwelling place of a dragon. But Ered Luin was where their people lived for now, and Thorin didn’t give his surroundings a second glance as he hurried to his father’s receiving rooms in answer to his summons.

His brother Frerin fell into step beside him, draping an arm across his shoulders. “Do you know what our father needs?” he asked cheerfully. 

“I think Balin and Dwalin have returned from the land of the halflings,” Thorin replied, nodding at his brother. “I saw Dwalin’s pony in the courtyard, anyway.”

“Ooh, I wonder if he brought us any gifts? Last time we went through the Shire I had the most incredible honey.”

He dashed off ahead, leaving Thorin smiling after him, shaking his head.

Thorin and his brother were twins, something incredibly rare among dwarves, and they were almost identical in looks; both dark-haired and blue-eyed. They were very different in temperament however – most guessed the merry, upbeat Frerin was the younger brother, and the more sombre and serious Thorin the elder, but for all there was only a couple of minutes between them, Frerin was the oldest and therefore the heir to the throne of Erebor, if they could one day reclaim it, and he would inherit the leadership of Durin’s folk during their exile from their father until that day.

There had never been any conflict between them because of that fact. They had always worked together from a young age for the betterment of their people, and their father relied on them (and their sister) equally, all the more so since his injuries in the Battle of Azanulbizar.

Thorin entered the room a few seconds after his brother, lightly bumping heads with Balin and Dwalin before his father raised his arm to call for silence. Even all those decades after Azanulbizar, the sight of the well-healed stump where his father’s hand had been still filled Thorin with a cold, bitter anger. 

“As everyone in this room knows,” Thrain began, “resources here in Ered Luin are growing thin. There is simply not enough in these mountains to provide for everyone living here. So I asked Balin to negotiate with Thain Isumbras of the Shire about the possibility of trade between our peoples.” 

“Is it really that bad?” Frerin asked, dipping his finger into the jar of honey that Balin had indeed brought for him.

“Without an additional source of regular supplies, we will struggle greatly this winter,” Thrain replied seriously. “There are simply more of us now than the Blue Mountains can support.” 

Balin nodded gravely beside him. “At first the negotiations seemed to be going well. The hobbits welcomed us among them -”

“Once they stopped pissing themselves at the sight of us,” Dwalin interjected, crossing his arms with a snort.

“- and they fed us well, and treated us kindly. The Thain was appreciative of our gifts – manthoms; he called them – and showed us around their fields and storehouses, which are indeed plentiful enough to support regular trade with us.”

“Even though those little buggers eat seven times a day,” Dwalin interrupted, his voice incredulous.

“Seven times a _day_?” Frerin repeated, sounding impressed. 

“Yes, even accounting for that,” Balin repeated, giving his brother a quelling look. “When the Thain invited me around for afternoon tea, I thought that the contract between us would be sighed before the day was out.”

“But it wasn’t,” Thorin guessed with a sigh.

“No,” Balin replied with a sigh of his own. “It wasn’t. When I mentioned over the meal how much we would appreciate their produce back in Ered Luin, he laughed and said that he only shared such things with family.”

Thrain sat back in his chair, his face grim, and Frerin pushed the honey away. Thorin felt disgust rise up within him at the knowledge that the hobbits had plenty to spare but would not share it. Yet again, his people would be left alone to fend for themselves.

“That’s not all he said,” Balin continued, his voice suddenly guarded. They all looked back at him, even Dwalin, who obviously hadn’t heard his part.

“What did he say?” Thrain asked cautiously.

“He said that he had an unmarried nephew, should I know a “fine dwarven lass or lad who was looking for a husband.”” Balin’s voice was neutral, but his expression was upset.

The room exploded. “What?” Dwalin roared, and Frerin cried out in disgust. Even Thorin swore aloud in khuzdul. 

Only Thrain was quiet, and he cradled his head in his good hand. “Have we fallen so low that we can be held to ransom by a gaggle of shoeless farmers?” he asked, his voice as weary as it had ever been.

“Father?” Frerin asked anxiously. “You are not seriously considering this, are you?”

“We have very little choice,” he replied. “If we cannot secure this trade, then many of us will need to relocate.”

“It’s too late in the year for that,” Thorin pointed out. “Even if we found somewhere new to live, we would not be able to get the settlement established and secure before winter sets in.”

“But who could we ask to tie their life to a hobbit?” Balin wondered. 

“It would have to be someone from the Line of Durin,” Thrain said. “I doubt the Thain would accept anyone else.”

Thorin suddenly became uncomfortably aware of everyone in the room sneaking glances at him.

“Me?” he asked in horror. 

“As he is heir of the throne, I cannot permit Frerin to marry this hobbit – we can’t be sure that this nephew of the Thain would consent to live among us, and that might invalidate the contract. Dis is married; her sons are not of age, your cousins are either married, too old, or…” he trailed off, looking at Dwalin, “otherwise unsuitable.” 

Dwalin scowled but didn’t disagree.

“This is not fair!” Frerin shouted and Thrain sighed deeply.

“I know it is not. I would not order anyone to do this, least of all my son. It is as big a sacrifice as risking your life in battle. But I ask you to at least consider meeting the Thain’s nephew. Perhaps we can negotiate from there.”

“I will think about it,” Thorin promised, though the words were bitter in his mouth. “May I be excused?” 

Thrain had barely nodded before Thorin stormed out of room.

\---

Thorin made his way to the training grounds, where he unleashed his anger on a training dummy until he was joined by Dwalin. To be fair, he didn’t say anything, he just sparred with Thorin until he was almost ready to fall down. 

With every strike Thorin grew angrier and angrier, thinking about those soft-bodied halflings that had plenty and still wanted more. 

No one had helped their people since the dragon came. Why would the hobbits be any different?

He only stopped his scuffle with Dwalin when he heard his brother say from behind him, “I’ll do it.”

Dwalin pulled his strike and took a step backwards as Thorin turned to face him.

“What are you talking about?” Thorin said.

“I’ll do it – I’ll abdicate in your favour and go and marry the hobbit. I was only going to make you do all the work when I was king anyway.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. Frerin would have done no such thing, he knew. Just because Frerin laughed and smiled when he did his duties didn’t mean that he didn’t take them seriously.

“I mean it,” Frerin insisted. “Mahal knows I’m the most charming one, anyway.” 

Frerin did mean it, Thorin could tell.

He’d already accepted that he was going to go to the Shire and court the Thain’s nephew. He had fought and toiled and bled for his people, this was no different. But Frerin’s offer only made him more determined. He would not let his brother be separated from his kin, or live outside the protection of a mountain.

Frerin must have read that on his face, because he shook his head in despair. “It’s not fair,” he said again, plaintively. 

“It’s not,” Thorin agreed. They’d all learned that lesson the day the dragon came.

They were all quiet for a moment before their sister Dis came storming into the training grounds, her eyes flashing.

“You have to marry a _what_?” she demanded.

\--- 

Thrain accepted his decision solemnly, thanking him for his sacrifice, and turned away so that Thorin could not see his expression. Preparations were made for them to return to the Shire as soon as possible.

Thorin spent as much time with his family as he could, his sister, brother and nephews, as well as his cousins and friends – he was relieved to realise that Balin and Dwalin would be accompanying him – and he spent some time in his forge, making perfunctory courting gifts for the Thain’s nephew. He barely put any thought or time into them; a hobbit would not be able to tell if something was finely crafted anyway. 

His last few weeks in Ered Luin faded away and before he knew it he was ready to mount his pony and set out for the Shire, his heart heavy within him. 

Frerin bumped his forehead against his. “If you need me, just send word,” he murmured and Thorin nodded, grasping his arms.

When his sister took Frerin’s place she scowled at him, though her anger was not at him. “You deserve more,” she told him fervently. “Don’t forget that.” He hugged her tightly, and then her sons who sniffled into his shoulders. 

Thrain pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. Thorin allowed him to cling to his father, just for a moment, before he stepped away.

He bowed to his family, and all the people who assembled to see him off, and then mounted his pony and left without looking back.

Balin and Dwalin did their best to keep his spirits up on the journey, but the miles to the Shire just melted away, and his anger grew greater within him the closer he got.

He did note, however, that the route between the Shire and Ered Luin was straightforward and safe, and that sending carts between the two with just a few guards would be completely feasible. 

All too soon, they arrived at the Shire, and Thorin only found amusement in the hobbits in the surrounding fields and pathways quaking when he glared at them.

Balin quickly arranged for a meeting with the Thain (“before you get into any trouble!”), leading Thorin and Dwalin to a place he called the Great Smials.

Thain Isumbras was an incredibly old hobbit, the hair on his head and feet was wispy and white, though his eyes were sharp. He greeted Balin like an old friend and Thorin inwardly seethed at his hypocrisy.

“This is Thorin son of Thrain,” Balin told Isumbras, waving Thorin forward. “Second in line to the kingship of Durin’s folk. He’s come to meet your nephew.”

For a second, Isumbras looked totally surprised, and then he smiled. Thorin had to grind his teeth to keep quiet – obviously the Thain had not expected them to meet his conditions. 

“Excellent, excellent!” Isumbras exclaimed. “You are most welcome! I’ll send someone to invite Bilbo for afternoon tea.”

He shouted for a young hobbit, who went running off to Bag End, whatever that was, on Isumbras’ orders, while a small feast was set in front of them. 

Balin held up their end of the conversation while he and Dwalin munched on the cakes set out in front of them – for all of his anger towards the hobbits, Thorin had to admit that the food was good – until an hour or so later they heard the front door open.

“Uncle Isumbras?” a light voice called out. “You wanted to see me?”

“In here, my lad,” the Thain replied, and Thorin saw the hobbit he was expected to court for the first time as he entered the room.

He had curly, honey-coloured hair and he was wearing brightly coloured, thoroughly impractical clothes, and his smile when he saw the dwarves was polite, his curiosity quickly hidden.

He could almost be called comely, in a strange sort of way, if Thorin was willing to overlook the lack of beard.

Which he was not.

“That’s who you want me to marry,” he hissed at Balin. “He looks more like a grocer than any sort of husband.”

**Author's Note:**

> Arranged marriage fics (in any fandom) are like crack to me, but I was thinking today that I had not seen a Bagginshield one where Thorin has to adjust to life in the Shire, aware of the possibility that he might have to stay there as part of the contract. 
> 
> (If anyone has seen one please send it my way!) 
> 
> This is why I made Frerin the oldest brother - the heir to the throne can't really be expected to live elsewhere, and also I can't see Thorin leaving his people if he has the sole responsibility for their welfare. I also wanted Thrain to survive, mainly so that Thorin has a bigger support network, and someone he can turn to and trust to know what to do.
> 
> I'm pretty sure that I worked it out right and Isumbras was Thain of the Shire ten years before the quest but nudge me if I am wrong. 
> 
> I have two WIPs on the go at the moment, as well as a handful of prompt fics for people, but I will try and get the next chapter up asap!
> 
> Feel free to cry about bagginshield with me on [tumblr](http://serenbach86.tumblr.com//) if you like!
> 
> This is the most Mills & Boons thing I have ever written, and I am not sorry.


End file.
